The Preußen of Notre Dame
by TheShopkeep
Summary: Prussia's Quasimodo. Austria's Esmeralda. Prustria will happen.


**Disclaimer:** The Awesomeness that is Prussia (as well as all the other Hetalia Characters) and the song lyrics I use belong to their respective owners. This is merely for my own entertainment; I am gaining nothing out of this other than the joy that I have written it. Enjoy.

****

Prologue

****

It was early morning, the crowds slowly waking up as the day began. Everyone was busy, running to and fro within the marketplace, carrying boxes and baskets of goods to sell and trade for other goods or needed services. Even though it was early, everything was all a tizzy of excitement, bustling and moving, children fallowing along or running around in groups playing.

The Baker was loading rolls, baguettes, and other freshly baked goods into a large cart outside the bakery, awaiting the apprentice who was late yet again. He would have to hurry if he was going to make it too all his appointed drop off locations. The houses were no trouble, but the Palace of Justice was a bit out of the way and was rather hard to get too. The Fisherman was perched out on his usual bank, awaiting the steady tug on his pole that signalled a possible catch. He already had a small pile, having been there before dawn, but he would need much more before he would be able to cart them off to the market to be sold. In the background, a beautiful ringing chimed, leaving it to echo throughout the city.

"_Morning in Paris, the city awakes_

_ To the bells of Notre Dame_

_ The Fisherman fishes, the Bakerman bakes_

_ To the bells of Notre Dame_

_ To the big bells as loud as the Thunder_"

Out in the center of the marketplace sat a small housing cart used for hand puppet theatres, horseless and with curtains on both the front and back windows. The front ones were torn open, and a blonde man was gesturing wildly, drawing in a small gaggle of children. He was dressed in a rather worn looking poet shirt and black pants tucked into thick black knee high boots. Adorning his person was a small amount of rings and pendants as well as a dark red sash around his waist. Atop his head was a blue, white, and red bandanna tied to the side in a square knot, hiding most of his blonde hair, but unable to hide his thick eyebrows that sat atop the emerald of emotion that was his eye, the other hidden by a black eye patch. His voice was an alluring tenor that attracted some of the younger women as well.

"_To the little bells soft as a psalm_

_ And some say the souls of the city's_

_ The toll of the bells_

_ The bells of Notre Dame_"

"Listen, they're beautiful, no?" He sighed happily to the children, his hand cupped to his ear before it returned to his other to gesture for his small audience. "So many colours and sounds, so many changing moods," he leaned forward, getting closer to the children, eye wide with knowing. "Because you know, they do not ring all by themselves,"

"They don't?" Gasped a small puppet boy as he popped out from behind the man's back, his large blue eyes wide with wonder. He was dressed in white and blue, like a tiny sailor, and had a pair of thick eyebrows himself.

"No, you silly boy," The man continued, pulling the back scenery curtain to show a perfect view of Notre Dame's dual towers. "Up there, high, high in the dark bell tower lives the mysterious bell ringer. Who is this creature?"

"Who?"

"_Wot_ is he?"

"Wot?"

"_How_ did he come to be there?"

"How?"

And suddenly the a stick hit down on the puppets head, prompting a moan and a furious rubbing of the wound, as well as the gaggle of children to giggle.

"Hush!" The man chided the puppet, before turning back to the children. "and Arthur will tell you. It is a tale," the children leaned in, interested and captivated by the words the man was speaking. "a tale of a man..." he reached back at the behind curtain- "and a _monster_!" and tore it back, and they were plunged into a world of long ago.

The night was dark, the sky nothing but thick clouds hiding all but the horizon and threatening imminent snowfall. It was cold, with nothing to warm the citizens but the clothes on their backs and whatever they could drag together for a fire. The air was silent, still, and nothing but the sharpest of knifes could cut through it. Nothing but the soft ripples from a boat travelling silently upstream, and the cries of a child, wrapped in a thin cloth and it's father's arms.

"_Dark was the night when our tale was begun_

_ On the Docks near Notre Dame_"

"Fritz, shut it up, will you!" Cried another man in a hushed tone to the first who cradled the baby.

"We'll be spotted!" Cried the third. The first man, a bit older than the other two cradled the baby closer.

"Hush little one," he cooed, holding the child as close as he could. His hair was long, and held back by a dark, red ribbon tied on with a bow and adorned with cheap jewellery. Under his navy cloak was a dark blue tunic, a white shirt with sleeves that puffed until the wrist and then held to his arms like a second skin, and a pair of dark grey pants, and black, knee high boots. Around his waist was a black and white sash, and adorning his person was various trinkets. At his father's voice, the baby quieted almost instantly.

"_Four frightened gypsies slid silently under_

_ The docks near Notre Dame_"

The man who had been rowing pulled up to the bank of snow and the gypsies emerged from the boat, glancing around nervously, on edge and suspicious. The row man held out his gloved hand, holding his rowing pole with his meaty fist.

"Four Guilders for safe passage into Paris," he said, hand out and awaiting his money, only for his attention to be snapped ahead as an arrow pierced through the center of his rowing stick. Up the bank stood four armoured archers, bows raised and arrows pulled, ready for another strike should it be commanded of them. Four guards armed with spears rushed down towards them, backing them into a corner. Fritz stood behind the other two, holding his beautifully silent child protectively to his chest.

"_But a trap had been laid for the gypsies_

_ And they gazed up in fear and alarm_"

Behind them came the sound of hoof prints in the snow, and the gypsies turned, their eyes widening all the more fearfully as a tall man dressed in black robes rode up on an angry yet obedient black steed. His hair was cut short and cropped, and across his upper lip was a thin, toothbrush moustache.

"_At a figure who's clutches_

_ Were iron as much as the bells_"

"Herr Führer Hitler!" Gasped the first gypsy.

"_The bells of Notre Dame_

_ Kyrie Eleison_"

Hitler urged his horse forward, the animal giving a whinny as it stepped in the cold snow. The gypsies backed up, the first one shielding the others from the terrible man glaring down at them with distaste. Glaring down as if they were garbage so low it fell beneath the worms in the dirt he walked on.

"_Adolph Hitler longed_

_ To purge the world_

_ Of vice and sin_

_ Kyrie Elesion_"

Shackles were brought out, and with a menacing click, clamped down on the wrists of the boatman and the two younger, stronger looking gypsies. One guard turned his attention to Fritz, and the elder man backed up slightly, holding the bundle closer too him without harming it.

"_And he saw corruption_

_ Ev'rywhere_

_ Except within_"

Hitler sneered in the direction of the imprisoned gypsies, no remorse or compassion in anything about him.

"Bring these gypsy vermin to the palace of justice," he ordered, just as the guard on Fritz noticed the bundle in his arms. He reached forward, grabbing the shoulder of his cloak and pulling him back.

"You there!" He cried over Fritz's startled gasp. "What are you hiding?" Fritz cradled the bundle protectively closer and turn out of his grasp, breaking into a run when his free arm was grasped at the wrist and he was jerked back.

"Stolen goods, no doubt," Hitler supplied for the guard, glaring down with a sneer at just how uncooperative the man was being. "Take them from him,"

Lightning struck, thunder rolling and booming across the sky with all the emotion Arthur put into the story. "He ran!"

Fritz ran down the snowy path, barely keeping himself from tripping as he made his escape. He glanced back, holding his infant closer as his footsteps crunched into the cold slush that seeped through his old boots. Hitler was right on his trail, using his horse to keep up, for surely if he didn't Fritz would have lost him by now. He ran under a stone archway, horse galloping steadily behind him.

"_Dies irae, dies illa_

_ Slovet saeclum in favilla- _"

He made a sharp turn and headed up the stairs, hearing a whinny as the reigns were pulled and the raven steed was made to advance up the steps and into a gated pathway, closing in with each passing second. The horse was so close, Fritz could feel the angry breath on the back of his neck, and his gasps for air came out frightened as he held his child closer, firmly, doing all he could to protect his precious baby boy. Hitler advanced, growling and quickly blocking a stray pub sign that tried to take him out.

"- _Teste David_

_ cum sibylla- _"

Fritz continued running, spying a small fence between a stone wall and a brick building. Holding tight to his load, he vaulted over, stumbling only slightly at the pile of flour sacks in the corner that cushioned his fall before taking his bundle into both arms and picking up speed once more. The opening was too small for Hitler, who had too reel back and find another way to the main road. It was fine if the gypsy gained a little distance, he already knew where he was going.

"_- Quantus tremor est futurus_

_ Quando Judex es venturus_"

Fritz ran up the steps of the church, practically falling into the large wooden door as he screamed his plea as loud as he could "Sanctuary!" he cried, banging pleadingly at the door. "Please give us Sanctuary!" He turned, eyes wide with fear as the horse was catching up again, faster than before, and he turned once more, ready to run, but hoping beyond all hope those doors would open. He gasped the closer Hitler got, and in a last ditch effort, turned and ran.

Hitler was gaining speed, his prize was in his reach. He reached out and grabbed the cloth, the gypsy's hands kept tightly to the bundle, his entire body spinning as he tried to pull it from him. He pulled harder, but the man just wouldn't budge. In a fit of anger, he kicked him, the stirrup of his saddle knocking into his chest, and dislodging the bundle from his arms, sending him flying back with force, and making him trip over his own feet, falling head-first onto stone steps.

Hitler hardly cared when blood started to seep put from under the gypsy's head. He glared at the foolish man a moment before the bundle started crying. He stared at it in confused wonder as he brought it closer.

"A baby?" he questioned no one, pulling back the cloth to get a better look. He gasped, shock and slight fear in his eyes that stared down at the creature within the cloth. "A imonster/i!" he shut the cloth tightly back, hiding the hideous visage from his pure eyes, glancing around wildly, looking for something to cure his dilemma.

And then he saw it. No more than a few steps away, was a well frozen over with ice at the top, but no doubtfully holding frigid water at the bottom. He urged his horse towards it, and staring down into the depths of it, he held the bundle high by the cloth, pausing only a moment to absorb what he was about to do.

"'STOP!'_ cried the archdeacon!_"

The man was tall, wrapped in priestly garbs and a forest green cloak, his long platinum hair framing his young but experienced face and his crystal blue eyes. His left arm was held out, ordering the man to halt as well as exposing a gold band around his ring finger.

"This is an unholy demon," Hitler explained, lowering the bundle away from the well, giving his arm a moment to rest as he explained to the priest. He still held it by the cloth, God forbid he touch it. He held it back out over the well. "I'm sending it back to _Hell_, where it belongs," Hitler watched the priest as he cradled the fallen man's body, respecting it as if he weren't a gypsy but a person.

"Think of the innocent blood you have spilt," he said, looking down in pity at the poor man, and then up at Hitler, willing him with all he could to show some sort of compassion for his fellow man "on the steps of Notre Dame,"

"I am guiltless," Hitler stated, rolling his eyes slightly, because the priest should have been able to see that he was in truth. "He ran, I pursued,"

"Now you would add this child's blood to your guilt," the priest's eyes fallowed the Führer as his horse was made to move forward, closer to the priest, but around him. "on the steps of Notre Dame?"

"My conscious is clear!" Hitler insisted, a tone of anger in his voice.

"You can lie to yourself and your minions," the priest growled, eyes glaring daggers at the horrid man before him. "You can say that you haven't a qualm,". Hitler's eyes widened slightly, a sudden tenseness knotting up in his chest, as the priest continued, "But you never can run from nor hide what you've done," his arm reached out, pointing behind the man on horse back. "from the eyes!"

Hitler raised an eyebrow before turning, eyes widening at what he saw. Every pair of eyes from every religious being carved into that church's magnificent walls were looking down at him. Looking down, deep into his soul where something began to stir.

"The eyes of Notre Dame!"

"_Kyrie Eleison_"

He looked around at all the figures, all of which seemed to be watching him and him alone. It was maddening, the guilt, the fear, the terror that welled within him at the very sight of such figures, such stone representations of the holiest of beings staring down at him with their judgemental, unblinking eyes. The thunder crashed and rolled, the snow starting its descent into the wind.

"_And for one time in his life_

_ Of power and control_

_ Kyrie Eleison_

_ Hitler felt a twinge of fear_

_ For his immortal soul_"

"What must I do?" Hitler asked, humbled and in fear of what might befall him should he not repent. The priest had already moved from his spot on the steps, and had started to walk away, Fritz lying motionless in his arms.

"Care for the child," He said as he turned back, his eyes holding no mercy for the desperate man. "and raise it as your own,"

"_What_?" Hitler gasped in silent outrage, "I am to be saddled with this _miscolored_- ?" he looked down at the now silent boy wrapped in thin rags, and seemed to, in only moments, change his mind. "Very well. But let him live with you in your church,"

"Live here?" The priest asked, confusion written all over his face. "Where?"

"Anywhere," Hitler said, gazing up at the towers of the magnificent church. "Just so he's kept locked away where no one else can see..." his face got a thoughtful look. "the bell tower, perhaps. And who knows? Our lord works in mysterious ways," He looked down at the baby, held a little more gently in his hand. "Even this foul creature may yet prove one day to be... " a cruel smirk overcame his features. "of use to me,"

"And Hitler gave the child a _cruel_ name," Arthur said eye narrowed in seriousness as he pulled the maroon curtain around him like a cloak, pulling the children from their fantasy world of horrible occurrences. "A name that means half-formed...

Quasimodo"

He held up a hand, now donned with a puppet of striking resemblance to the Führer holding a baby-shaped bundle as it climbed up the stairs of what could only be the bell tower.

"_Now here is a riddle to guess if you can_

_ Sing the bells of Notre Dame_"

Behind a fabric the silhouette of Hitler walked further up, fallowed by a small child, before the next flight, which only showed a bigger version of said child.

"_Who is the monster and who is the man?_"

The last version of the puppet climbed the last flight, and grabbed onto a shadow rope, starting to jump up and down, making the bells ring.

"_Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells_"

Meanwhile, high up in the tower, a figure unknowingly mimicked the puppets, jumping up and down, using his body weight to ring the bells this morning like he always did.

"_Bells, bells, bells, bells_"

He swung down, using the rope and 20 years of knowledge and memorization to swing between all the other bells in the tower and land on a ramp that he walked on daily, creating the force needed to ring the bell for the final time that morning.

"_Bells of Notre Dame_"

****

**A/N:** Alright, so this is thanks to watching Disney Movies after a Hetalia splurge. Pairing will be Prustria. Prussia will be OOC. Austria will be in a dress. Mozeltov.


End file.
